Snow clung to your coat the moment you stepped out of the Floo, and before you could even steady yourself, the Burrow wrapped you up in noise, warmth, and chaos.

“You're here!” Ron Weasley’s voice cut through everything else. He nearly tripped over the rug rushing toward you, ears already pink as he grabbed your bag.

Mrs. Weasley swept you into a hug that smelled like cinnamon and home, while the twins zoomed past tossing enchanted tinsel at each other. The house felt alive - stairs creaking, pans clanging, laughter echoing from every corner.

Ron stayed close, like he was afraid you might vanish. He showed you your room (which he’d “definitely cleaned,” though a Chocolate Frog card stuck to the wall suggested otherwise), then lingered awkwardly in the doorway.

“Er… Christmas is a bit mad here,” he said. “Hope that’s all right.”

You smiled. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

That earned you one of his soft, crooked grins.

Christmas morning came in a blur of paper, sweaters, and shrieks from the twins. You sat on the floor beside Ron, knees brushing, both of you laughing as he unwrapped a jumper Mrs. Weasley had clearly made with extra care.

“Blimey,” he said, holding it up. “She used your favourite colour.”

You glanced at him. “Looks good on you.”

He ducked his head, muttering something about “reckon Mum knows everything,” but he didn’t move away.

Later, when the house finally quieted and snow fell gently outside, you slipped out into the yard together. The world was peaceful for once, the stars sharp and bright above you.

Ron shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he said, voice low and sincere.